


All The Neighbors Might Think

by murron



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/pseuds/murron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like Dean needs company on Christmas eve. Future Fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Neighbors Might Think

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eretria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eretria/gifts).



> spoilers: all aired episodes  
> standard disclaimers apply
> 
> a/n: written for eretria as a birthday present. She wanted a fic inspired by the song _baby it’s cold outside_ so here goes :)

1

 

Ten miles out of Carbondale, the Roaring Fork river ran fast and full over a bed of rock. Dean drove the Impala across the bridge to the far side of the river and headed up Stonefly Drive. The snow on the road was packed and hard and the Impala joggled over the tire-tracks left by Burt’s snowplow. It was the 24th of December and the sky spread bright blue overhead, no clouds.

Dean had cranked up the ventilation to keep the windshield from fogging over and with the heating on, it was baked-apple warm inside the car. Two shopping bags rode with him on the backseat and he kept listening to Zeppelin I, replaying the tape again and again.

The road wound steadily uphill until it reached a junction. Dean took the turn-off, noticed that Burt had cleared the private road and made a mental note to leave his neighbor a bottle of Black Label.

One more bend in the driveway and Dean saw the old ranch house, the snow-heavy pinyon trees, and Mt Sopris in the back.

 

: : :

 

Dean had won the house in a poker game and at first he didn’t know what to do with it. He and Sam visited the place once, spent a night in the drafty living room, and decided to hang on to it for a while. That was four years ago.

Four Elms had been a sheep ranch once but by the time Dean came into possession of it no-one had lived there for years. Nestled in the shadow of the Colorado Rockies, the ranch had always been a hard, remote spot. Few people knew it but that suited Sam and Dean just fine. They were on good terms with their only neighbor ever since they got rid off a pack of demon coyotes on Burt’s back-lot too.

They went there on and off, holing up in the Colorado outback when the F.B.I. or other hunters wanted a piece of their hide. Back when Dean had his run-in with the Andhaka and dodged paralysis only because Cas healed him, he and Sam took a time-out and spent the summer fixing up the place. They made new shutters for the windows, fixed the bathroom’s hot water heater, and spent the afternoons trout fishing. Over the years, they set up a decent library that included books on exorcism as well as Sam’s complete Star Wars collector’s box. They stocked their pantry Bobby-style, hoarding canned food in fallout-shelter quantities.

It wasn’t home; at least they never called it that. Dean found himself thinking of the house on their endless drives though and the knowledge that they had a place of their own set his mind at ease.

 

: : :

 

Dean stomped his boots on the porch and lugged the groceries into the house. He plunked the bags on the kitchen counter when his cell-phone rang and showed Sam’s caller ID.

They’d split up a week ago when Rufus asked Dean to help him clean out a nest of nightmares. Sam was still working a gig in Phoenix. They’d arranged to meet here so they could spend Christmas on the ranch and kick back for a few days.

“Hey,” Sam said. “You there yet?”

“Just plowed in,” Dean replied, tried the faucet and found the water running. So the pipes weren’t frozen.

“Weather that bad?” Sam asked.

“Nah, it’s good. When are you coming?”

The pause on the other end already told Dean something was up. “That’s why I’m calling, man,” Sam said, sounding chagrined. “I won’t make it today; I’m still tied up with the case.”

“Are you okay?” Dean asked. “You want me to come down there?”

“No, it’s all right we just need to tie up some loose ends. We should be done by tomorrow.”

‘We’ was Sam and his hunter-in-training, Alice. She was one of Rufus’ recruits; one of the few who Dean thought was cut out for the life. It still boggled his mind that Rufus took on students but after the Alpha Wars, their ranks had thinned and Rufus reacted. He trained no more than four potentials at a time and they came in all shapes and sizes.

Sam and Dean helped out with the rookies sometimes and Alice had asked Sam to be her tutor. They were a good match. Alice was sharp and quick-footed, Sam was a good teacher. Never mind that his subject was demonology and decapitation.

“How’s she doing?” Dean inquired.

“Good,” Sam said. “A bit hot-blooded. Reminds me of you.”

“Never a bad thing.” He wedged the cell-phone between his shoulder and his ear and started unpacking the groceries one-handed.

“You gonna be okay?” Sam asked and Dean heard the worry-frown in his voice. “I’m sorry I won’t make it in time for Christmas.”

“Yeah, I’ll just weep in my eggnog,” Dean quipped.

“Put on some Patti Smith if you feel lonely.”

“You bet.”

Changing the phone from left ear to right, Dean opened the cupboards and started stowing away the food.

“Should I bring anything?” Sam asked. “Bread? Booze?”

“Store was out of marshmallows,” Dean said and pummeled a bag of noodles until it fit between the canned tomatoes. “Otherwise we’re good.”

“You got enough candles?” Sam asked and Dean’s hand stilled.

“Yeah,” Dean said and slowly closed the cupboard. “Getting more every year.”

“Yeah,” Sam said and fell silent.

For a moment, Dean stood in the white light coming from the window and felt the emptiness of the house around him. His gaze brushed over the unpacked grocery bags and disappointment pooled in his stomach.

“I could call around,” Sam said, freakishly tuned into Dean’s moods. “See if anyone can take over.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Dean snapped and felt angry at himself. “Get the job done.”

He could almost hear Sam’s brain go worry, worry, fret, but in the end, Sam was too much of a professional. They both were.

“Okay,” Sam said. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Sunday at the latest.”

After they hung up, Dean scrolled down his contacts, looking for someone who would pass the time with him. Finally he called Bobby and asked him about his Christmas plans. Two minutes later Dean hung up again, his ears ringing with Bobby’s rant about how Toys’R’Us invented Christmas. Dean pocketed the phone and settled for a microwaved dinner and a quiet night.

 

 

2

 

A year ago when Gwen needed a place to crash Dean had folded out the sofa bed in the den. The hinges jammed and they hadn’t managed to fold the mattress back ever since.

As the day outside slowly dimmed, Dean sprawled on the sofa and cradled a bowl of mac and cheese. He’d switched on the TV and went through a number of Christmas movies until he hit upon a Terminator marathon. He was well into Judgment Day, when the TV crackled and a gust of wind wooshed through the room.

Dean craned around and found Cas standing behind the couch, one brow raised at the television. His hair looked like it had been combed for once and his tie hung straight and neat. He probably came straight from a meeting where he’d whacked the other angels over the head with new rules for angel-human interaction. Cas had told Dean that he hated celestial administration; he preferred fighting in the trenches. With Raphael gone and God still AWOL, however, much of heaven’s management fell to Cas and the renegades who had fought in the First Rebellion.

In the early days, Cas used to sneak out of holy plenary sessions to play darts with Sam and Dean. Or save their asses. Or ask if something needed its ass kicked.

Sometimes Cas also sent them on missions, so when he popped up behind the couch looking all serious, Dean expected him to call an emergency. Raphael is back. Zombies walk the earth. Dan Brown publishes another novel.

Instead, Cas held up a bag of mini marshmallows.

“Cas,” Dean said slowly. “Don’t tell me. You bring tidings of great joy and s’mores.”

Cas pulled a face, he really had the fuck-you-stare down pat. “Sam told me to give you these.”

“You could have thrown in some pizza.”

Cas rolled his eyes, his mouth pinching into that little smile of his and Dean grinned. He liked how expressive Cas had become. Dean could read his face so easily, the laugh-lines crinkling, the twitch of an eyebrow when people got on Cas’s nerves.

“Good to see you, Dean,” Cas said. He threw the marshmallows at Dean’s chest and Dean caught them awkwardly, clutching the bowl of macaroni. “Cas, wait.”

Over the years Dean had learned to read the signs. He could feel Cas gather his grace as he prepared to take off. Now Cas hesitated.

“You just gonna rush off?” Dean demanded. Behind him, cars exploded on the TV screen. Cas gaze switched between Dean and the movie.

“I said I’d be back...” Cas began but he didn’t sound too eager to get rolling.

“Come on, stay for a beer,” Dean pressed. “We haven’t seen you in ages.” Five weeks and four days. Not that he was counting.

Dean could see Cas thinking about it and he prepared to launch into a list of reasons why Cas should stick around but in the end Cas simply exhaled and said, “All right. Just one, though.”

 

: : :

 

The sun had already set when Dean bustled to the back of the house to fetch a few logs from the woodpile. Temperatures had dropped again and his breath plumed white before his lips. When he looked up, he could see the moonlight glinting off the mountain slopes.

Dean hummed _Good Times Bad Times_ all the way to and from the woodpile. He’d left Cas inside, asking him to rig up the hot chocolate. Despite Cas’s protests that he had to get back to heaven, one beer had turned into two and after that Dean had suggested they’d break in on the marshmallows. Dean knew he’d tempt Cas with sweets. He still remembered Bobby’s sixtieth birthday and Cas’s eyes glazing over when he’d tried his first bite of chocolate mud cake.

When Dean rounded the house and headed for the front door, he caught a glimpse of clouds smudging the night sky. He guessed it would snow soon.

Back inside, Dean left the logs in the hallway and went into the kitchen.

Cas stood by the hearth. He’d taken off his trenchcoat but he was still wearing the suit jacket. The bag of marshmallows waited on the counter, along with an empty pot. Cas held a box of cocoa and a carton of milk and stared at them as if he expected the ingredients to mate and make little cups of hot beverage. He stood so damn still Dean wondered if he was even breathing.

His time with the Winchester’s had watered down Cas’s otherness but sometimes his alien side shone through and it soothed Dean. He’d never make the mistake of wishing Cas turned fully human. He preferred Cas as invulnerable as possible. The memory of Cas after Raphael’s defeat was still too raw.

Dean still remembered the long night when the moon had turned dark and Heaven’s power winked out like a candle. Raphael bit the dust that night and Cas almost died, too, falling to earth with a shredded back and broken legs. Dean had waited by his bedside, watching the morning sun creep into the room and Cas’s wounds closing slowly as the angels’ grace returned.

Dean hadn’t been nearly as scared since.

“Problems?” Dean asked and took the milk from Cas’s hands.

Cas clucked his tongue and started opening the box of cocoa. “It doesn’t say how hot the stove should be.”

“You got cosmic powers coming out the wazoo but you can’t heat a quart of milk?” Dean teased and put the pot on the hotplate.

“Maybe I need a bigger challenge,” Cas suggested and Dean chuckled.

“Go shazam some fire into the fireplace, then,” Dean said, poured milk, and searched the drawers for a whisk. “And take off that jacket. You make me feel underdressed.”

 

: : :

 

Dean prepped the cocoa with marshmallows and a shot of whiskey and carried two mugs into the den. He returned to the bed sofa and Cas joined him, the two of them stretching their legs on the fold-out mattress. Cas sat in his shirt-sleeves, cradling his mug of hot chocolate between both hands. They were watching _Nightmare before Christmas_ , one of Cas’s favorites (Singing skeletons. Go figure).

Dean had thrown a quilt over his own legs but with the fire crackling, the air was getting too close for blankets. Dean didn’t mind the heat, though. It had been a while since he’d felt warmed through to his bones.

The smell of chocolate coiled up from his mug and mixed with the smell of the burning pine logs. Dean felt good, savoring every detail of the moment: the pliant couch against his back, the shine of the fire shifting on the wall and the quiet noise of Cas breathing beside him. For a split second he had a sense that everything was just right.

Dean emptied his cocoa and put the mug on the floor. When he came back up, his gaze slipped to Cas. Dean could imagine how his evening would have been if Cas hadn’t shown: He would have drunk too much and passed out on the couch, waking up early in a cold room.

Instead Cas had brought him marshmallows.

Dean had few illusions. He knew he’d grow old before his time – if he grew old at all - and the job numbed him, filled him with a chill he couldn’t shake and dreams he’d rather not remember. But sometimes life balanced. Sometimes he shared a ratty, thrift-shop couch with Cas and it made all the difference.

Dean bit the inside of his lip, thinking. He noticed how Cas’s face looked flushed and soft and he’d loosened his tie a little. He seemed as much at ease as Dean, slumped into the cushions and his socked feet crossed at the ankles. 

Something inside Dean coiled around his heart and drew tight, a slow, winding pull that made the breath catch in his throat. He watched Cas lift his mug, sip, and lick chocolate milk from his lip.

In Dean’s experience, people passed in and out of his life before he had the chance to get to know them. Before he wanted to know them, even. But Cas had been around and beside him for years now and Dean looked at him and knew he couldn’t even imagine a time when Cas would no longer be there. He also wondered how it would feel, how it would taste, licking chocolate off Cas’s mouth.

Why shouldn’t he find out?

It came to Dean that Cas sat so damn close it would be nothing to reach over and touch him, to run his hand under Cas’s sleeve, maybe. The thought seemed so sensible, Dean felt stupid that he hadn’t done this before.

Before he could think it over, Dean reached for the remote and switched off the TV. When Cas turned to ask what was going on, Dean leaned in and kissed him, just a soft press of his mouth against Cas’s.

He could feel Cas go still and his confidence slipped. He realized what they were doing, the line he’d just crossed, and it might have been a long time coming but it still felt like the ground opened up under his feet.

Dean carefully broke the kiss and opened his eyes. Cas stared at him, eyes wide and dark. His face had turned completely blank.

 _Now what,_ Dean thought. Damn, he knew all the steps. This shouldn’t be difficult. If it was what he wanted.

Dean swallowed and took the mug from Cas’s hands but then he couldn’t go on. His heart beat hard against his chest, panic gathering hot and tight in his gut. He knew he’d dipped one toe into the water but he couldn’t jump and he couldn’t go back.

Then Cas moved, took back the mug, placed it on the floor on his side of the sofa, and came back to frame Dean’s face between his hands.

Their second kiss was just as slow, with Cas tilting his head and stroking his thumb along the line of Dean’s jaw. Dean opened his mouth and Cas’s tongue brushed against Dean’s surprisingly fast. Dean groaned and tangled his hands into Cas’s hair, messing it up. His fingers shook just a little when he reached down and undid Cas’s tie.

“You could stay the night,” Dean muttered and pulled the tie free of Cas’s collar.

“It’s already late,” Cas agreed.

“No sense in going now.”

“No.”

Even as he said it, Cas twisted his fist into Dean’s hair and pulled him in for another kiss. Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t known what he was getting himself into; he hadn’t thought it would feel like this. Like coming home, like pieces falling into place. He should stop, should think this through.

But one kiss segued into another and Cas tasted like marshmallows and whiskey and his skin smelled like wood smoke. Dean pulled at Cas’s collar and pushed his nose into the crook of Cas’s neck to breathe in as much of Cas’s scent as possible.

When Cas started tugging at his sweatshirt, Dean pulled it off over his head and they unbuttoned Cas’s shirt together. Dean huffed a laugh when Cas shrugged out of his shirt lightning quick just to get his hands back on Dean’s shoulders, his arms and waist and everywhere else he could reach.

They slip-dropped onto their sides, Dean shoving at Cas’s shoulder, Cas pushing into his palm, each of them wrestling for control until Cas flipped Dean on his back. Maybe it was lying down, maybe it was Cas’s palm stroking up from Dean’s belly to his chest, but Dean felt his doubts echo off into nothing.

 _No coming back from this,_ he thought and a small part of him said, _good_.

“Dean,” Cas said, voice strained and raw.

“I’m here,” Dean blurted and did his best to wrap around Cas, hooking his foot behind Cas’s ankle. Cas let Dean drag him down and pushed his thigh between Dean’s legs.

The quilt tangled between them and pressed twisted folds into Dean’s crotch, driving Dean crazy with friction. Too much clothes, too much fabric in the way. He tried to kick off the blanket and wriggled to the foot-end of the bed, hands clutching the edge of the fold-out mattress.

Cas pressed into his side and pinned him down, one hand gripping Dean’s shoulder, the other closing over Dean’s fist. He scraped his teeth over the tendons in Dean’s neck and his grasp on Dean’s hand tightened.

When Dean groaned, Cas murmured, “Yes.”

Dean dug his heels into the sofa and felt the old steel legs wobble. He wouldn’t care if the couch collapsed underneath them. The room was sweltering hot by then, the heat of the fire radiating onto Dean’s shoulders. Cas ran his hand up Dean’s arm and Dean felt the skim of sweat on his own skin. Cas’s breath was damn warm against the side of his throat too and when Dean touched Cas’s chest, Cas’s skin was fever-taut under his fingertips.

Dean reached for his fly but Cas caught his wrist.

“Let me.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “Yeah, come on.”

Cas brushed his nose against Dean’s cheek, and Dean could feel him exhale a long, shaky breath. He felt Cas’s fingertips trailing down his belly, pushing under the waistband of his jeans. Dean fumbled to pop the button of his pants and Cas slid his hand into his boxers, fingers closing around Dean’s cock.

Cas’s palm was too dry but even the rasp of his callused skin felt good. Dean felt Cas crowd in closer, rubbing his erection against Dean’s thigh as he started stroking.

Half-closing his eyes, Dean kneaded his thumb into the nape of Cas neck and repeated, “Yeah. Like that.”

“Slow…,” Cas gritted.

“Yeah.”

They did go slow, took even more time than Dean expected. The muscles in his stomach clenched and quivered with the strain of toeing the brink of release and falling back down again when Cas took away his hand and opened his own belt.

They took turns giving handjobs, touched, kissed, tangled until dragging it out was no longer an option. When Cas started cursing like a sailor on shore-leave, Dean bit the curve of Cas’s jaw and got down to business, twisting his fist up and down Cas’s cock until Cas tensed and spilled over his hand.

Dean used the slick of Cas’s come to jerk himself off, a few hard pulls and he was gone. Man, was he _gone._

Dean dropped onto his back with a moan, every inch of his body humming with pleasure. He stretched, feeling each of his muscles unwind and relax.

When he turned his head, he saw Cas fold in on himself, crossing his arms over his chest.  For a second, Dean was puzzled then he realized Cas was steaming, a fine mist curling from his flushed skin. It looked like he’d just stepped out of a hot shower.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, fingers itching to touch Cas’s shoulder. The steam was already fading and it sure as hell shouldn’t be that fascinating but damn, Dean wanted to kiss Cas’s skin and warm his face against his chest.

“I can’t control it,” Cas muttered and he actually sounded embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Like hell,” Dean said. He wrapped an arm around Cas and hauled him in until Cas pressed his face into the crook of his neck. Cas relaxed, slipped his arms around Dean’s back and held him.

“You’re better than a hot-water bottle,” Dean murmured and felt Cas smile against his skin.

 

 

3

 

That night, Dean waited until midnight then took Cas out behind the house with him. The snow crunched under their feet and a few isolated snowflakes drifted from the black sky. Dean had put on layers, a thick sweatshirt, a jacket, a woolen cap even. Cas had put on his shoes but walked out in his shirt-sleeves.  Between them, they carried a dozen candles.

Dean led the way to a mountain creek, the water gurgling past frozen wisps of grass. Once they reached the creek’s bank, Dean and Cas started putting up their candles in the snow.

In Ukraine, some of the old folk lit candles in the longest night of the year. They said that during the winter solstice, the veil between worlds was thin and the light of the candles would shine from the land of the living into the land of the dead. Placing their candles into open windows, on doorsteps or other thresholds, people hoped that the candle-flame would penetrate the dark and warm the souls on the far side.

The custom had spread among Rufus’s students early on and Sam and Dean had picked up the habit when they’d celebrated midwinter’s night with the class of 2015.

The solstice mostly lasted from the 21st to the 25th of December but the Winchesters always lit their candles on the night of the 24th. It came to mark the end of their year.

Cas had participated in the ritual before and tonight he lit candles of his own, one for Anna, for Gabriel, Uriel, and even Raphael. Dean struck up lights for his parents, for Ellen and Jo, for Ash, and all the others who’d gone ahead.

Dean blew out his match and stepped back, looking down at the pinpricks of light on top of the thick candles, the honeyed glow spreading on the snow. Cas stood watching beside him and after a moment, he placed his hands on the small of Dean’s back.

Dean knew Sam would line up candles on some window in Phoenix and hoped his brother had someone with him, too.

 

 

4

 

Dean and Cas slept on the couch because heating up one of the bedrooms seemed like too much trouble. They dozed off tangled around each other, but during the night Dean drifted to one side of the sofa bed. He woke up with his arm hanging down to the floor and his spit tasting sour.

He pushed up on his elbow, the quilt sliding off his shoulder, and noticed something in the house had changed. Then he smelled coffee and the alarm lights winked off. 

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Dean sank down on his back and turned to look at Cas sleeping with his face mushed against the mattress.

Cas didn’t need sleep but he liked it. Thing was, he didn’t really sleep: he shut off.  No REM activity behind his eyelids, no restless turning, he just curled into one position and went still.

It was kind of cute, actually. With the quilt bunched around him and his hair sticking up at wild angles Cas looked, well, fluffed.

Dean smiled, slid out of the bed-slash-sofa and tiptoed around the room, collecting his clothes.

Leaving the den just as quietly, he padded through the hallway and winced at the cold air filling the house. It had been a lot warmer under the quilt.

He found Sam in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in one hand and a paperback in the other. Dean had never been able to figure out why Sam liked to eat his breakfast standing.

When Dean entered, Sam looked up and a grin spread on his face.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Sam said and lifted his coffee in salute.

“Shut up,” Dean muttered and went for the coffee machine. He poured himself a cup, trying to ignore Sam’s cheerful face and pointed stare. Dean clenched his jaw, pulled another mug from the rack and Sam smirked, dimples deepening.

“Dude,” Dean warned, finally turning to face him.

“Had a good night, did you?”  Sam asked.

 _That’s it_ , Dean thought and decided to take this head on. “Well, it wasn’t silent if you know what I mean.”

“So Cas stopped by and you got all cozy?”

“All because you ordered angel delivery,” Dean agreed. “Guess you didn’t see that coming.”

At this, Sam’s face blanked so fast, Dean’s suspicion went off like a siren. 

“Sam?” Dean asked, watching closely. Suddenly Sam seemed busy looking at everything else besides Dean. “ _Sam_?” Dean repeated, clenching his hand around the coffee mug. Sam winced.

“Did you hook us up?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“No.”

 _Unbelievable_. So the marshmallows, that had been Sam’s idea of matchmaking? Or did it even… did Sam drag out his case on purpose? “How the hell did you think that was a good idea?” Dean bristled.

“Oh come on,” Sam blurted. “What you had in that room was an elephant the size of Mt. Rushmore. In every damn room. In the fucking car.”

“I don’t… ” Dean began but Sam cut him short. And damn if he didn’t sound exasperated.

“Dean, I've known things were headed this way ever since Cas read _Death in Venice.”_

Sam tilted his head like this should mean something but Dean just stared at him. He swore he didn’t even know the language Sam was talking.

Sam raised his brows. “Didn’t you notice? Cas went mooning after you for weeks after that.”

Dean braced his hip against the counter, thinking he should swallow some coffee. He stared at the mug and tried to imagine Cas mooning but his mind kept flapping like a stranded fish.

Sam shook his head. “I thought you’d pull your head out of your ass sooner or later but, man, you never did. It was painful to watch.”

“So what?” Dean said and cleared his throat. “You just assumed I swung that way?”

The look he got then spoke volumes.

Dean closed a hand around the counter’s edge and let Sam’s words sink in. Slowly. He wondered if he should be angry at himself or Sam but in the end the only thing he could think of was: No wonder he’d had so little trouble convincing Cas to stay.

Dean took a sip of his coffee and smiled; he couldn’t help it. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sam smile, too.

“Merry Christmas, bro.”

  __

 _End_

___________  
24/12/10

Beta by **auburnnothenna**

 


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